


A Light That Never Fades

by Bridgr6



Series: Fools and Kindness [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bear Island adventures, Childhood Memories, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Mama Mormont
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24421489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bridgr6/pseuds/Bridgr6
Summary: Memories of the past bring out the best of the present.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Fools and Kindness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763563
Comments: 37
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally a Jorah memory I wrote as part of my story for the Equinox Exchange. I scrapped it because it didn't fit with the theme I wanted. But then I wrote the Jorleesi half of this fic and everything converged and the planets aligned and it fit well into the Fools and Kindness universe. This first chapter is Jorah/Mama Mormont focused, but the follow on chapter will be all Jorleesi. 
> 
> I don't have a name for Jorah's mother and I wasn't sure if there was a fandom-agreed-upon name for her? So I wrote in first-person 'cause I'm a chicken lol. But also, avoidance, amirite? 
> 
> Also, I haven't forgotten about An Unsolvable Mystery...I promissseeee. I'm just a distracted human person, I swear.
> 
> I apologize for any/all grammatical mishaps.

_Lady Mormont_

Few people welcome the cold. Even northerners, men and women born and bred in winter's chill, dread anything beyond the first snowfall. Although they put on stoic expressions for the southern crowd, their love of snow and ice lasts but a few weeks. Of course, there is no outward moaning or complaining—that is not the northern way. Instead, gruff sighs become wearier and more drawn out, serving as a wordless distress call...a language of its own.

But I fell in love beneath snow-covered trees and have found more warmth in the embrace of a northern lord than in all the sun-drenched sands of the south. The cold is not bitter or barren to me—it is an excuse to gather my boys closer, to snuggle up beside a roaring fire together.

Still, after the trickery of multiple false springs—where the land turned to slop before freezing again—even I am ready to greet warmer weather. With thawing temperatures, nature gives way to new life. The ground hums with growth as both plant and creature rise from a long slumber. There's patience and kindness in the way people move carefully around budding flowers and newborn animals. Even the air seems gentler…smells sweeter.

Or maybe it's not about the climate at all. Perhaps it is the spell of island life that has left my heart full and content all these years.

Truth be told, I adore Bear Island, but not nearly as much as I adore the snoring man beside me. Shaking my head with a fond smile, I sit up on one elbow to admire my husband in the half-light of morning. Most days, Jeor wakes before me and it is his gentle touch that pulls me from the world of dreams. Now, my fingers itch to run through those whitening curls and return the favor.

But I hold back. I cannot risk waking him…

…or maybe just one kiss.

I press my lips against his scruffy cheek before slipping out of bed. His arm stretches out in response, my name slipping from his lips on the end of a dream-filled sigh. My smile widens and I sneak another kiss—this time from the very place my name escaped.

With one last glance at Jeor, I slip down the hall to where our little boy sleeps. Having trekked the small space a hundred times before, I find his bedside with ease. Squinting in the dark, I see a small leg poking out from beneath a massive pile of furs and stuffed toys. I reach out and lightly tickle the bottom of Jorah's exposed foot with my fingertips. The reaction is immediate—a startled squeak and the limb retracts beneath the furs quickly, like a rabbit diving into its burrow.

My laughter banishes the silence of the room. I wait a moment, but Jorah doesn't stir again. So, I move to his side and with natural care, press my hand against his stomach, waking him with a soft kiss to the cheek. Just like his father, his hand reaches for me on instinct. The word 'Mama' escapes—a title worth more than my own name—and bleary blue eyes blink up at me.

"Wake up, my sweet boy. Our adventure begins."

The whispered reminder of a promised journey works its magic as Jorah smiles, grasping my hand and slipping from the warm cocoon of his bed. I nudge him through the dark to where our coats and boots wait near the door. His movements are uncoordinated, softened by sleep, as I pull his arms through the sleeves of a light coat. I watch him struggle to pull on his boots—a task he now wants to do for himself.

We don't exchange words, just conspiring smiles in the dark.

Before heading out the door, I scribble a quick note for Jeor, just in case he wakes before we return. Hopefully, a quiet home will lend a few extra hours of much needed rest. He has been working far too hard in recent moons, caught between the duties of leadership and fatherhood, stubborn and unwilling to be neglect any of his duties.

Just two nights earlier, I found him fast asleep in Jorah's room, stretched out across the small bed, legs hanging off its sides. I had allowed him a few moments of rest before waking him. In return, he had mumbled and grumbled his way up the stairs, batting away my steadying hands as I informed him he would be of no use to anyone with an aching back.

 _Stubborn,_ I think with a smile.

So, when I devised my plan, I left Jeor out. He won't mind…there will be a sweet treat at the end of the day…a delicious pie.

Not long ago, I spotted fresh berries sprouting up from the bushes near the edge of the woods. With Maege's nameday on the horizon, I decided to bake a celebratory fruit pie.

Now all that is needed is the plump berries ripe for the taking. And who better to help pick berries than a little bear?

With basket in one hand and Jorah's fingers clasped tightly in the other, I step out into the dewy dawn.

As if overnight, the grass around the Keep has shot up from the ground, just enough to rustle beneath my boots and cast heightened shadows. The blades are vibrant and soft to touch but remind me of how quickly the boy beside me is growing. Even now, I can tell Jorah has gotten taller, as our clasped hands settle a bit higher than before, swaying close to my hip.

Perhaps my thoughts are too melancholy for such a beautiful morning, and maybe I'm selfish…but I fear the day Jorah grows strong enough to grasp a sword instead of his mother's hand.

Shaking my head, I settle back into the present. Worries of the inescapable future can wait…secret morning adventures cannot.

Well, perhaps not _secret_ , but I choose to treasure it as such.

Careful to keep my footsteps short, I guide Jorah along the familiar and worn path to the woods. The sun has not quite risen above the horizon, and yet light stretches across the sky in a faded line, erupting like soft flames in a swelling fire.

But the night is still alive. The closer we get to the forest, the louder the nighttime creatures become, a blend of noises soft and sharp. They are not fearful sounds, for I recognize the gentle coos of the owls, chirping of the crickets, and rattle of the trees. On Bear Island, nature and man dwell together. I have wandered the pine-scented paths of the forest just as often as I've walked the stone corridors of Mormont Keep. Both feel like home.

Even more welcome than the sound of nature, is the sound of Jorah's voice as he shares the important details of his dream from the night prior.

"-and there was a dragon," Jorah says, midway through the recollection. "Papa was there too. He flew on the dragon!"

I smile and ask about the majestic creature, unwilling to reveal that dragons no longer soar the skies of our world. After all, dreams are for things thought impossible. And he is so thrilled by the idea of his father riding a dragon. How highly Jorah must think of his father that even in dreams, Jeor is able to conquer the greatest of challenges.

Admittedly, the image of my husband atop a dragon is not an unwelcome one. With a smothered grin, I make a mental note to tease him about it later.

It's not long before we arrive at the edge of the woods, where sunlight has yet to break through the canopy of leaves overhead. Peering into the dark shadows between sturdy tree trunks, I spot a strange flicker of light. Confused, I squeeze my eyes shut to cast away the dark spots left from gazing at the horizon for too long. But when I reopen them, the small lights continue to blink back at me.

I take an instinctive step in front of Jorah, narrowing my eyes further—whether to see better or to warn off a predator, I cannot be sure. The lights weave and bob among the trees, fading from sight before reappearing a second later.

I blink again, this time with clarity.

_Fireflies._

A soft laugh escapes as I recognize the unique beetles dancing in the dwindling darkness. It's rare to see them so close to sunrise. But I suppose their lives are short and the night is never long enough.

Jorah gasps softly, eyes wide with wonder once he sees what has caught my attention. The patterned flashes of light summon knowledge passed onto me long ago, in a place where hot summer nights brought swarms of fireflies, forming a sea of light brighter than the sun or moon.

"They're called fireflies, Jorah."

"Fireflies," he echoes, utterly captivated.

Slowly, as to not disturb the rare moment, I step into the forest, pulling Jorah with me gently.

"Mhmm. See the way each one flashes a bit differently?"

My little bear nods, his free hand rising slowly to touch one that flutters nearby. His head twists to follow the soft beat of wings.

"That's how they find their loved ones…they recognize their light."

"Like me and you and Papa?" he asks, eyes searching mine.

I smile and brush a rebellious lock of hair from his face. "Exactly."

_Even in the chaos, they find each other._

It's a comforting thought, one that eases away my petty worries from before.

There's another giggle, this time from Jorah, as a daring beetle lands on his head. He is careful not to move, patient and gentle as always—a wonderful part of his nature.

Enthralled with my little boy's happiness, I forget our initial task.

Together we stand, steady in the dancing light, until it fades with the dawn of a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fireflies actually do use flashes of light to communicate...but it's more of a mating thing than a cute family thing lol. Also, there are femme fatale fireflies (Photuris group) that lure in unsuspecting male prey, but we here at bridgr6 Inc. like to romanticize things.


	2. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why I've held onto this for as long as I have, but voila! The jorleesi fluff I spoke of long ago. This follows the last chapter of Fools and Kindness, in regard to the status of Daenerys and Jorah's relationship, but I think it can be read on its own. 
> 
> Also, I have another chapter for this fic. It features Mama Mormont and smol!Jorah. Part of me isn't sure of where to post it/how to tag it, so holler at me with some sage advice, oh wise ones. 
> 
> Until then, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for reading!

When he is with her, all he wants is more time, more space between the moon and sun…any way to stretch the days and nights into an endless stream of moments spent together.

Part of him knows there will never be enough time—not in a day, a year, or a lifetime. He must cherish whatever the Gods allow. And he does. He is proud to spend his days at her side—a loyal knight serving his queen—but prefers the evenings when they are alone, away from the suffocating pressures of decorum.

Although their relationship is not a complete secret, they have agreed upon discretion. Daenerys struggles more than him, with the expectations of their relationship. Over time, he has grown accustomed to the faux distance forged through obligation, while she is new to royal expectations. When she feels, she feels with her entire being. It's this passion that has sparked their rare arguments, on nights when she is sick of hiding—nights when she tries to ease them out of the shadows.

But Jorah is more stubborn than her in matters of the heart. He fears the same repercussions as her advisors, unsure of his worth in a capacity greater than protector. More than that, he fears redrawing the line between duty and love—a line Daenerys would prefer not exist at all.

Some days she is bolder than he prefers—taking his hand while walking between pillars, brushing past him too closely in open corridors, allowing his cloak to hide the whisper of her fingertips against his—and yet he wouldn't have it any other way.

It's this precise and constant battle between nobility and desire that leaves him conflicted.

The present evening is another bold act of indiscretion by their queen. Although Jorah carries the lantern and leads the way down the sloping cliffs beyond the Red Keep, he has no idea as to why they are journeying to the water in the middle of the night.

An hour earlier, after he returned from a late discussion with Tyrion, Daenerys ordered him out of his armor and out the door, with nothing more than a quick smile of assurance. He should have argued against whatever she had planned, but the excitement in her eyes had been impossible to deny.

Now, as they come to the edge of the water, Daenerys releases his hand and moves towards a small patch of bushes. Despite the late hour, the sky is clear and bright overhead, illuminating the ground in uneven spatters of starlight.

Yet to Jorah, even the natural glow of the moon dulls in comparison to the silver-haired beauty before him.

"What do you think?" Daenerys asks, waving her hand at a small, wooden boat caught between the reeds. With a slight frown, he circles the dinghy, confused but curious.

"Where did you get it?"

Daenerys grins. "You are not the only one with resources outside the council room."

Jorah snorts in amusement, still eyeing the boat a bit warily. Without question, he knows her intent. It's a foolish idea, one that is too indulgent for a queen. Lucky for her, he's still caught up in notions of lost time and the sudden reminder of old adventures together.

Their eyes meet and without words, a decision is made.

A moment later, after a bit of cursing and dragging on his part, the boat slides into the water. Jorah carefully lowers the lantern onto the steel hook built into the narrow end of the vessel. It's rusted but sturdy enough to hold the small source of light.

Having already discarded her sandals, Daenerys approaches with a smile, clapping her hands together cheerfully.

"Go on, then," Jorah says fondly, bending at the waist to grip the sides of the boat. Daenerys places her palm on his shoulder, easing one foot over the edge. "Careful now, Khaleesi," he murmurs, half-teasing.

He is fairly certain a tumble into the water is not part of her plans for the evening.

The wood beneath his fingertips quakes a bit as Daenerys takes a moment to find her balance, but once she does, her grip loosens, and she wobbles to her seat at the far end of the boat.

"Is this where you push me out to sea? Never to be seen or heard from again?"

Jorah meets her eyes, serious. "Don't tempt me."

She leans over and flicks her fingers over the surface of the water, sending a light spray in his direction. He chuckles and steps back to avoid the barrage.

Preparing to wade into deeper water, Jorah tugs off his boots and tosses them aside, praying the tide won’t carry them away. He pauses a moment before rolling up his trousers, checking to make sure the boat hasn't started to drift. When he looks up, he finds Daenerys watching him, her chin resting atop a closed fist. She smiles, unrepentant in her staring.

Jorah shakes his head and steps into the water. The cool temperature makes it easier to ignore the warm blush creeping up his neck.

He pushes the boat further out to sea, wading until the water reaches just below his thighs. Confident the current will work in their favor, he presses his hands against the wooden sides and hauls himself over the edge in one powerful surge.

"Jorah!" Daenerys laughs, half-startled as his weight sends the boat rocking from side to side. The lantern overhead squeaks at the same pitch, swaying along the rusted hook.

Even when settled, he takes up more than his fair share of space. Sitting on the opposite side of the boat, his knees still manage to brush hers.

Daenerys doesn't seem to mind.

After he finds the oars below their feet and begins to row, she leans in even closer. Each time his body shifts forward in natural rhyme with the oars' circular motion, she grows nearer. When he rotates back around a third time, she lifts her hand and gently catches his face, brushing her thumb and forefinger along his chin. Instead of following the motion of the row, he stays in place, powerless beneath her touch.

Her eyes soften and she steals a quick kiss from his lips.

Eventually, Jorah lifts the oars from the water and leans back, allowing the natural rise and fall of the waves to run their course. In the absence of the shore's strong current, they're left to drift quietly at the end of the vast sea, alone and at peace.

It's been years since he's been out on the open waters in nothing more than a wooden dinghy, long enough that he barely recognizes the gentle lapping of water against the sides of the boat. Even the chirps and croaks of creatures lingering at the water's edge seem more pleasant than before.

Distracted by the sights and sounds around them, it takes him a moment to notice the scattered dots of lights in the distance. He frowns, suspicious on instinct and unsure of what dangers lurk ahead…yet as he peers closer at the bobbing lights, he recognizes the flicker of flames similar to their own.

_Fishermen._

From far away, they are nothing more than specs of light fading and reappearing with the gentle roll of the waves. The depth of the darkness between them doubles their numbers, forming lines of light bright enough to rival the moon overhead. More and more ships appear, sweeping in from the sea to find rest on the shore.

Daenerys turns slightly to follow his gaze and releases a soft gasp, eyes wide in awe.

_A sea of light._

Images of steady sunrises, illuminated forests, and worn paths dance across Jorah's mind. They belong to memories so faded they feel like dreams from another lifetime. The blurred edges of the past have often left him wondering whether he imagined the happiness of it all…what were dreams if not moments molded to fit the desires of the heart?

_Was he as happy then as he is now?_

Jorah turns to Daenerys, who has already shifted her gaze back to him, and admires the way the lamplight softens the violet hues of her eyes.

_It seems impossible._

Something in his thoughtful expression must speak of nostalgia, for Daenerys frowns momentarily, lost to her own thoughts. She bites her lip, conflicted, as if she has been debating with herself for far longer than one evening.

Daenerys visibly deflates on the end of a shaky breath, giving voice to her worries. "I want all of this to feel like home for you," she admits quietly, gesturing to shores of King's Landing behind them.

"You are," he says without hesitation, reaching for her hand. "Daenerys, _you_ are my home."

She smiles softly, nodding to appease him.

Try as she might, she can't hide the worry lingering in the delicate lines around her eyes—he memorized her face long ago.

Although he carries doubts about the careful balance between duty and love, not once has he doubted her, or the joy he finds in loving her.

There is no place he would rather be, she must know that.

"Here—" Jorah gently tugs her towards him. Daenerys moves willingly, settling between his legs, her back pressed against his chest.

Steady and sure, Jorah finds the brightest light ahead, the one that hangs over the main harbor of the Fishmarket, and points to it. "See that light? The one that shines brighter than the others?" He feels her nod against his cheek. "It guides sailors home after long days at sea, leading them through unstable waters. Without it they would be lost."

_You are my light, my home. Without you, I would be lost._

He doesn't speak the words aloud, he doesn't have to; she knows his heart.

Daenerys sighs in relief, leaning into him completely. All that's left is for him to hold her...and he is more than willing to oblige.

If what the great minds of their time say is true, and the world is made up of darkness, she is the light. And not just for him. No, her ability to lead extends far beyond the walls of his heart. Perhaps that is part of his own undisclosed worries—he fears smothering her fire, her passion.

Who is he to try and tame the queen's heart?

When he was a boy, fire existed only in stone hearths, its sole purpose to warm. He had been warned of its danger, told to avoid it unless necessary, and he had never doubted those words. With a landscape built by luscious greenery and towering trees, Bear Island could not risk the free spirit of flame. One wayward spark and everything would burn.

For years, Jorah had feared fire would steal his home.

Then he met her and all that danger and violence became strength and beauty. At a point when all seemed lost, he found hope in the flames.

_Daenerys Targaryen—fire made flesh._

Jorah huffs out a laugh, still stunned by the impossibility of it all. His humor fades into a quiet smile as he rests his chin on her shoulder.

"No more hiding," Daenerys declares definitively.

Jorah's eyes drift shut as her palm slides along the side of his face. "No more hiding," he echoes.

With a slight turn of her head, Daenerys plants a soft kiss to his cheek, binding him to his word.

* * *

The next evening, while leaving on a venture to Flea Bottom, Jorah finds his queen waiting by the entrance gate to the keep. She pulls him aside quickly, nodding politely to the other men in armor.

"Is everything alright, Your Grace?"

"Yes, yes, of course." she waves her hand dismissively before glancing up at him with an almost bashful smile. "I just—" she shakes her head and straightens. "Before you make it down the hill, look back."

Jorah frowns, confused. "I'm not sure I understand. What do—"

"Look back, Jorah," she repeats, squeezing his hand and backing away with a smile.

There's no time to question her further; the rest of the party has already mounted their horses. Still confused, but trusting of his queen, Jorah waits until they've almost made it down Aegon's High Hill before turning back to face the keep.

It's then that he sees it—high in the window of the queen's chambers, shines a lantern brighter than all others.

The meaning is clear.

Home.


End file.
